


Motherless Child and Childless Mother

by Heavenlea6292



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s09e08 Rock and a Hard Place, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Motherly Jody Mills, No Sex, Not Slash, takes place after 9.08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenlea6292/pseuds/Heavenlea6292
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They make it work, whispering confessions to each other and giving each other the one thing they could never find anywhere else- the comfort craved by the motherless child and the feeling of being needed that burns the childless mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motherless Child and Childless Mother

Sam couldn’t quite explain it, but Jody was something that he could certainly get used to. She was warm, inviting, and so…normal. 

He’d never admit it out loud, but he used to drive down her street, after Dean disappeared, when he was wandering. He knew if he crawled up to that door, broken hearted and ragged and smelling of booze and cheap fast food, his stubble growing closer to a beard, that she would take him in. She may not have been happy, but she would’ve done it. But every time, as close as he was to stopping, he couldn’t do it. To crawl to Jody was to burden yet another person with him and his problems and his freakishness, and he wouldn’t do that to her. Not like he did to Bobby. Not like he did to Dean.

When he was only in second grade, his class had to draw a picture of their Mothers for Mother’s Day. Sammy didn’t want anyone to know that there was no Mommy at home, waiting to kiss his face and thank him for the portrait. There was no refrigerator to hang it on because there was no home, not like the home Allan had when he went over to see if he’d come play.   
Mother was a word he wasn’t familiar with, a word that was spoken so rarely that it felt like a foreign language when he heard it. But Mother means home. Mother means kisses and hugs, Mother means breakfast, lunch and dinner, Mother means cuddles when you’re sad and sick. Mother means comfort. Mother means love.  


And 8 year old Sammy decided that Mother means Dean, and there has never been a better Mother than his Mother. And as he scrawled the best portrait he could of Dean, for the first time he wasn’t scared of looking different from all the others. 

When he was with Jody, that same motherly feeling crept back into him, that feeling of safety and love and strangely home.   
He never told anyone, but he’s sent her a Mother’s Day card every year now, since Dean disappeared, and even after he returned. He may not have wanted to dump his freakishness on her, his problems, but he wanted her to know he cared. That Jody had touched something in him that he thought could only ever belong to Dean.

When she shows up a day later at the motel room they’re staying at after dealing with Vesta (because for some reason Dean decides he wants to stay another day, something about Sam looking tired) he can’t say he’s upset.

"You’re coming with me young man," Jody says, grabbing his forearm and dragging him out the door. Dean looks helpless, like he can’t argue with Jody but god damn it he wants to, and all Sam can do is wave and say, "I’ll check in later I guess."   
They sit in the car in silence as she drives, until she finally speaks. 

"With everything going on, I forgot to thank you."   
"What?" Sam asks, looking and feeling panicked. Was she angry? Was she being sarcastic?  
But one look from her as she smiles at him fondly erases that fear and leaves a warm feeling in his chest.   
"For the cards. You’ve sent them every year for quite a while now," she says gently, like saying it too loud will make Sam change his mind about it, "Thank you."   
"Of course Jody," he replies quietly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

When he first did it, he wasn’t sure if he should have- _she had lost her son, was she still a mother?_ \- but he decided that she needed it. She deserved it. She didn’t stop being a mother when her son died, just like he and Dean didn’t stop being sons when their mother died. He didn’t know how to sign it the first time, so all he wrote was, "Thank you. For everything." He didn’t know if she would understand, that he was thanking her for being there when he was alone, for making him feel human, that she was so special because even if he didn’t come to her, she was the first person he thought of running to when the world crashed around him, because he knew she wouldn’t turn him away. 

"I have no idea how you’re the size that you are," she began to chat conversationally, "I’ve seen the way you eat. You can’t possibly survive on the crap you get from diners and fast food joints."   
"I survive," he replies, smiling to himself.   
"Yeah well, you need some real food," she continues, looking over at him worriedly, "And I’m going to feed you, so I hope you’re hungry."   
"You don’t have to do that," Sam protests, he can’t impose, he can’t darken her doorstep anymore than he already has, but she shakes her head and something about it freezes any other protests on his lips.   
"Let me do this," she says quietly, turning down her street, "I need this, Sam. Just as much as you do." 

He nods quietly, looking at one of the few streets he could navigate himself to with his eyes closed, the street he drove up and down dozens of times trying to decide if he was going to turn off the engine and knock on that door, the last person he had, the last of them all. She turns off the ignition, her hand moving to grip the steering wheel hard as she stares at the door. He can hear her breath coming in short gasps, her shoulders twitching as she tries to calm herself. Sam’s panicking again, what is he doing, what has he done, is she gonna turn around and take him back to Dean and leave this the way it is now? He wants to reach out and take away whatever is making her feel this way, just like he wanted to take it from Dean and Cas and Bobby, but he’s afraid if he touches her, she’ll get the wrong idea, think he’s doing something he’s not.   
He reaches out anyways, his hand resting on her shoulder as her hand flies up to grasp it hard. 

"I’m sorry," she says softly, "I just got a little upset. You ready to eat?" 

He nods, unsure of what to say, following her obediently into her home, pulling off his shoes so he doesn’t track water or dirt into her home. He looks over into the living room, remembering what had happened there so long ago, and his heart aches for her. She still lived here, where her family died. He doesn’t know how she does it, but he follows her quietly into the kitchen and tries to shove that away. He watches as she takes the lid off a large, steaming pot, looking in with approval. She glances back at him, jerking her head towards the cabinet behind him. 

"Mind getting us some bowls, Sam?" she asks, and he almost kicks himself for being so eager. He grabs the first two bowls he can find, bringing them over and setting them down on the counter next to her and watching her closely. He liked watching Dean cook, but standing here and watching Jody lets his mind drift dangerously close to a daydream he always had, of coming home from school to a normal house with a mom who loved him and had food waiting and a brother who was more worried about giving him noogies than he was about making sure the food was gonna last. He must’ve made a sound, because she asks, "What was that, Sam?"   
"Nothing," he whispers, smiling, "It smells amazing."   
"It’s one of my few specialties," she replies, chuckling, "Chili. Easy to make, easy to doctor up so you can eat it forever."

He laughs, shaking his head. She sounds like Dean, and for once, he doesn’t feel guilty about being without Dean. Dean never wants anyone to try to replace Mom…but Sam doesn’t have that same feeling. How can you replace something you’ve never had? Benny was trying to replace him in Dean’s life, on purpose or not, and thats what hurt Sam most. That he was such a failure, such a freak, that his brother replaced him with a vampire. Before he realizes it, Jody is ushering him into a chair, shoving a spoon in his hand. 

"Eat," she commands in the tone she called her "Mom voice", and Sam can’t help but obey. He eats the food quickly at first, but he slows down because it’s not an order, not like one Dad would’ve given him, it’s a reminder that she wants him to eat because he needs food, and he almost cries at the thought that _holy shit, this person cares. Good god, if she knew what she was caring for…_

"You need to take better care of yourself," she says quietly, taking another bite of her chili. Sam smiles and he knows that it looks so pathetic, even more pathetic than the words that come out next.   
"You don’t have to worry about me."   
She smiles and it makes Sam’s heart swell in his chest as she brushes his hair behind his ear gently, like a mom would.   
"I’m gonna worry about you, kid," she says, a hint of a laugh in her voice, "Call it the Mom in me."   
He can’t wipe the expression from his face, the one that’s saying everything he’s thinking; _oh god, don’t, I’ll only hurt you, I destroy everything I touch and I’m gonna destroy you too…_  
"Sam," she says, touching his cheek gently, "I’m a childless mother, and you’re a motherless child. Let me care. Let me take care of you, even if it’s just for right now." 

In one simple touch, one simple statement- let me take care of you, even if it’s just for now- and the floodgates break loose, and he can’t stop the tears that stream from his eyes. He feels ashamed, and he wants to jerk away from her hand, to tell her he’s still unclean, that he hasn’t paid for his sins, but when he looks into her own tearing eyes and sees so much love and pain, he’s frozen. 

"You remind me of my Owen," she says softly, her thumb stroking away the tear on his cheek, "He always used to cry when I did. He’d feel everyone else’s pain around him, and it just ate at him. He was so smart too, you know, all Moms say that about their kids, but Owen was really smart. He was such a beautiful little boy."    
Sam reaches up to hold her hand against his cheek, their eyes locked on each others.   
"You don’t know what you’re doing," he says quietly, "I’m not-"   
"You’re not what, Sam? Human, in need of something that your brother can’t give you?" she replies, "There’s no shame in needing someone. I need someone too."   
"But I don’t deserve it."   
"Yes you do." 

Suddenly he can’t eat, he can’t see, he can’t even breathe because she’s too good, she’s too much and he’s lying to her. But when her hand moves from his face, he wants to grab it and drag it back against his cheek, hold her there even though he doesn’t deserve it. But just as soon as her hand is gone from his face its on his forearm again, pulling him to his feet and leading in into the living room, parking him on the couch. He feels the couch sink next to him as she sits, looking at him as if she sees something good, something wonderful, and he wants to curl up in a ball and disappear. But before he can move, there she is again, her only good arm around him, holding him like a child and hushing him gently as the tears come again. She’s talking, she’s talking about Owen and her husband, about how since they died there was an empty space, a space that she surrendered to and when she sees those cards from him and calls him and works with him that the space feels less empty and it aches less and she thanks him, Dear god, she’s thanking him for existing. He just clings to her, listening to her words, swallowing them and absorbing them, his hair wet with her tears and her arms holding him there instead of trapping himself inside his head and he just lets thank yous tumble from him like a waterfall. 

He tells her about Jessica, about Dad, about Ruby, about everything; he confessing to her his every sin and fault because he just feels like she could forgive him, maybe she could give him the absolution he can’t get anywhere else as her fingers comb through his hair and lull him into a sense of warm safety. She tells him about when she first met her husband and when she found out that Owen was sick and how if there was anyone she could’ve prayed to be there when he died again it was Sam, because Sam didn’t want to kill him and he was just trying to save her, and they fall asleep this was, laying on a couch too small for one person but they make it work, whispering confessions to each other and giving each other the one thing they could never find anywhere else- the comfort craved by a motherless child and the feeling of being needed that burns the childless mother.

* * *

The next morning their muscles are stiff and they both look a sight, but it doesn’t matter. He prays that somehow she doesn’t remember all the things his sobbed and whispered into her arms, but she does, and she just doesn’t care. He holds her confessions close to his heart, clinging to them, knowing that Jody has never lied to him, never used him- she did this because she cared for him-and it’s what makes him feel a bit more alive, a bit more rejuvenated, than he has in a long time. She packs him up five containers of various foods, tucking them lovingly in a bag and putting it in his hands before hugging him tightly and ushering him towards the door.   
"Gotta get you back to your worry wart brother," she laughs, sliding her shoes on and pulling her jacket down from the hook, pushing him out he door and into the car. They ride in silence all the way to the motel, until she turns off the car again, looking at him.   
"Call me and text me," she says quietly, "Check in with me. I’ll be worried if you don’t."   
He nods, his lips parting to tell her, "Check in with me too. Anything. Anytime. If you need me."   
She laughs, leaning over and pulling his head down and kissing his forehead.   
"You’re an amazing man, Sam Winchester," she says, her forehead pressed against his, "Remember that more than just your brother cares for you, got it?"   
"Got it," he whispers back. He opens the door, carrying the bag, and he waves as she pulls out.

He could explain it now; why he could get used to Jody being around.   
He could get used to being cared for by someone who owed him nothing, who he owed nothing to.  
Yeah. He could get used to that.


End file.
